Rainy Days [L&M]
Gail is in England. Official citizen and everything. It's amazing what Harry can do with that little bit of paper of his. "Psychic paper", he calls it, and it's just brilliant. She likes British slang - "brilliant" and "wicked" and it's all so different and so fun. It's an adventure
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He takes another sip of Scotch, and tells himself it's all about patience. All about waiting until everything's in place. Besides, he's got this lovely new toy... But he's tired, damn it all. Tired of being patient with her and with the Doctor, and...
He wants to hurt something. When they brought him back, they brought him back with the drums turned to maximum, and even after everything, after the damned Time War, they're still beating louder than ever before, over and over in his head. They demand blood. They demand conquest.
Before he even knows what he's doing, the glass is flying through the air, hitting a Ming vase with a crash that echoes through the house.
He's destroyed something beautiful and irreplaceable. It takes the edge off, a bit. But not by much. Not by much at all.
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She yelps, quite against her will, and the book ends up halfway across the room.
That can not be good.
She's on her feet almost instantly, after having recovered from the startled flailing, and at the door of his study in moments, knocking a bit urgently. "Harry? You alright in there? I heard something crash."
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"Abby." His voice is soft, dangerous, like razors hidden under silk. "I do believe I asked that you not disturb me here." A hand works itself into her hair, not hurting, but it's there, just beneath the surface, a palpable threat.
"Would I have been correct in that assumption?"
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He's better than this. He's just stressed over... something. Something upset him. He wouldn't hurt her.
"Yes," she says faintly. "I'm sorry, I was just worried."
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He's close enough to smell the fear coming off her, and oh Rassilon, it's good. Just a taste, not enough to ruin her, just one taste...
"How terribly, terribly sweet." Free hand brushing her cheek, and he is coiled, he is ready, and this is the moment it could all come crashing down, this is the knife's edge, sharp enough to make him bleed as he dances along it, but the fear in her eyes, the race of her heartbeat, it's intoxicating.
He doesn't want it to stop. He knows it has to.
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"Harry, what are you doing?" she asks, not bothering to stop her voice from shaking.
He's dangerous. She can feel it, deep in her bones - like a mouse seeing a cat on the hunt for the first time. Never had any reason to think it dangerous, but instinct says otherwise.
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He closes his eyes, lets the shiver work its way down his spine. How innocent, how perfect, how lovely she is right now...
And then his eyes snap open, locking onto hers, and she is the butterfly held by pins, she is the mouse beneath his paw, she is small and trembling and his and he can't resist this moment, won't resist it.
He kisses her with a force just short of bruising, tongue darting out to taste the fear that coats the back of her throat. Yes.
And inside him something uncurls, stretches, claws coming unsheathed... And then retracting, withdrawing, as he pulls away from her, looks down and makes that terrible, painful choice.
"Go away, Abby. Just leave me. Now. ...Please." His voice is hoarse, and he doesn't bother to hide the shaking of his hands as he lets go of her.
Inside him drums pound with the rushing of his blood, the beat of his hearts, and something howls for blood, for pain, but he is the Master. And all the titles he claims mean nothing if he can't also master himself.
"Go." He grits his teeth, fists clenched at his sides, trembling with the effort of stepping back, of giving her the way out, if she knows enough to take it.
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But he has stopped, and he steps back, shaking and... she can't precisely identify the emotion in his voice. Desire, perhaps. She doesn't know what to do, really - she's scared to death of him, wants to run away now that he's let her go, but...
It's Harry. He wouldn't hurt her, not on purpose. That's probably why he's shaking, at least partially - he scared her and that scared him. Stories, excuses, and she believes all of them.
And can't stop herself, before she goes, from stepping in to kiss his cheek lightly.
"I'm sorry."
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He wants to rip the pendant from her neck, wants to awaken the sleeping Time Lady, wants her to know...
Patience. The syllables echo through his mind, and he pushes her away with a snarled "Get out!", slamming the door in her face. He'll endure this. It'll be better to let her break slowly, just one piece at a time.
He'll go back to her once he's calmer. Once he can be sure that he won't rip that dear child to shreds. But not now.
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She doesn't.
Finally, though, she stops shaking enough to walk back to her rooms, and she curls back up in her chair, wrapping a blanket around her.
He wouldn't send her back, would he? She doesn't think so, but he'd seemed so angry...
She has no place to go back to. This is her home now.
She rests her head on the back of the chair and closes her eyes. All she can do is wait.
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That's the first thought that comes to him when calm returns, and it's enough to worry him. He hasn't spent all this time cultivating his little pet for her to run off on him.
Best to make amends, then.
So a few minutes after he's come to this realization, he's knocking softly on the door, wondering if she'll be there to answer.
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"Come in," she calls, perhaps a bit too high-pitched, but her voice just won't cooperate with her just now.
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He has to fight to keep from smiling as he walks in.
He walks to her chair with slow, soft footsteps, and extends a hand to her.
And he waits.
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"You scared me a little there," she says with a nervous laugh.
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"I know," he says, making the words a caress. "I know. Poor girl."
He doesn't apologise, an omission which would be glaring to someone a little less naive. Not that he has any such worries about her, not with that response.
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"I'm sorry if I upset you," she murmurs, resting her head against his shoulder and wrapping her arms loosely around his waist. "Like I said, I was just worried."
Glaringly obvious, to the less naive, that she has apologized and he has not. Naivety has its place, and it is not with the Master.
And yet.
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